Page 64 of Tortured Royals

Turning toward the spark, Ivar smooths his suit and runs his fingers through his hair. The spark grows, green flames bursting to life, and the circle grows bigger. The moment the portal is fully formed, a single cloaked figure steps from the gateway, emerging from between the flames. Distinct tattoos curl around the figure’s fingers and travel up their hands.

My mates and I all tense.

“On time as always,” Ivar says smoothly, bowing his head respectfully. “It is good to see?—”

The witch moves her head, scanning the warehouse before narrowing her gaze on Ivar. “What progress have you made?” she says sharply, not letting him finish.

To his credit, Ivar doesn’t look cowed. He clears his throat and puffs his chest out. “My best spy has infiltrated the royal castle. The demon king is even weaker since his return.”

I clench my jaw.

“And?” The witch prompts. “Did you find it?”

Ivar smiles smugly. “It took some effort, but my spy has discovered a vault far beneath the castle, accessible by a hidden staircase. Unfortunately, he can’t bypass the multiple layers of security and enter the vault, but I think it’s safe to assume that’s it.”

“Good.” The witch nods, looking pleased.

Ivar licks his lips.

“Is there more?”

“My spy mentioned he can feel something coming from the vault. A power of sorts,” Ivar says slowly, like he’s thinking abouthis next choice of words. “He says there’s a force down there that’s unlike anything he’s felt.”

“A power you say?” The witch asks, though going from her tone she’s not the least bit surprised.

“He says it feels unnatural,” Ivar adds, watching the witch carefully.

The witch snorts. “The only thing that’s unnatural is the fact that it’s locked away in that place. You’ve done well demon.”

Ivar’s smile falters before he stretches out his lips again. “And now that I’ve found it as you asked....”

“Yes, yes, you will have our full support to get you on the throne,” the witch hisses. “We have little desire to rule this land. All we wish for is the return of what belongs to us.”

Ivar’s eyes are bright. “Then it is settled. I have the most influential demon clan leaders on my side, and once you have assassinated the king, we can combine forces and take over the castle. From there, we can?—”

“No.” The word is a cold, crisp command.

Ivar stiffens. “No?”

“If you wish to rule, you will need a clean slate. The clan leaders must be eliminated.”

“Eliminated?” Ivar splutters. “These are some of the most well-respected leaders in Seral.”

“Exactly. You wish to be king, do you not?” the witch questions, a cruel edge to her voice. “Those in power are often unreliable and untrustworthy. We can’t risk any who might oppose us. When you’ve taken care of them, then I’ll send in my assassins.”

“But—” Ivar gapes, looking genuinely surprised. It’s almost comical to watch as I’m not sure what he expected when he decided to ally with a witch. I might have learned the truth about the fall of Perstalia, and King Celzar stealing power from thewitches, but any encounter I've had with the witches has shown them to be cunning and cruel.

Green fire erupts from the floor, circling around Ivar, and a squeak comes from the office where Shandi is hiding. Ivar’s eyes shoot wide.

“Kill the clan leaders,” the witch demands, flames billowing behind her. “Loyalty is fickle, and we don’t need any more variables when it comes to this war. My sisters have lost too much.” For the first time, there’s a hint of sadness in the witch’s voice, but it’s gone when she speaks again. “I will be back in a day. Make sure it’s done by then.”

“You don’t understand,” Ivar blurts. “I need their support if I am to be seen as a legitimate king.”

“My support is all you need,” the witch replies, and she tosses something at Ivar.

He fumbles, catching the leather pouch as it hits his chest. “You have been useful, demon, but don’t try my patience. Now that I know the location of the vault, my sisters will want to move quickly. We don’t need your clan leaders getting in our way.”

Ivar unties the string at the top of the pouch and stares at the contents within. “Poison?” His expression hardens.

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